Chapter 13
Marcy
It’s strange how quickly routine starts to feel like home.
I’ve been working at the shop for two weeks.
The days marked by intake forms, Wes’s constant chatter, and the low hum of the garage that seeps into my bones like background music.
My car runs fine now—fuel line solid, brakes smooth, no more strange sputters.
Becket even showed me the picture Joon took of the sock they found shoved into my tailpipe.
A sock. That detail cuts sharp through my thoughts whenever Brett crosses my mind.
But here’s the thing: I could leave now if I wanted.
The car runs perfectly. Nothing’s keeping me tied to Black Pines Ridge.
Yet every time I picture myself packing up and driving away, something tightens in my chest. The garage, the little apartment above it, even the rhythm of the guys moving between bays—it all feels more like home than anywhere I’ve lived in years.
I’m standing at the counter when Nova breezes in, blonde hair tucked under a knit cap, energy crackling around her like electricity. She doesn’t even glance at the clipboard Wes waves in her direction; she heads straight for me.
“There you are,” she says, planting her hands on the counter. “I’m stealing you.”
I blink. “What?”
“Day off. Girl time. You’ve been locked in here breathing grease fumes for days. You’re coming with me.”
“I can’t.” The refusal comes quick, automatic. “I’m working.”
“Not anymore.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Already cleared it with the boss.”
I look past her to Landon, who’s crouched beside a pickup in the bay. He straightens, wipes his hands on a rag, and catches my eyes. “She’s right,” he says simply. “Go.”
“But—”
Wes leans against the counter, smirking, his oil-stained uniform wrinkled at the elbows. “Please. You’re making the rest of us look bad. You’ve already organized half our filing system—color-coded and everything—and Joon’s still bitter about it.”
Joon, hunched over his workbench across the garage, doesn’t even look up. “Not bitter,” he says flatly. “Just resigned.”
The laughter that escapes me is small but genuine, bubbling up from somewhere I thought had gone dormant. I glance back at Landon, catching the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his dark eyes seem to absorb every detail. “Are you sure?”
He nods once, without hesitation, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. “We’ll survive without you for a few hours.”
Before I can argue again, he crosses the floor with steady, deliberate steps, the concrete muffling the sound of his heavy work boots.
He pulls a folded envelope from his back pocket—worn soft at the edges—and sets it on the counter in front of me.
My name is written across the front in neat block letters, the ink slightly smudged by what looks like a fingerprint.
“What’s this?”
“Your paycheck,” he says simply. “You’ve more than paid off the car by now. Time you actually got paid for the hours you’ve worked.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I didn’t expect—”
“You earned it,” he interrupts. “Don’t argue.”
I run my thumb along the envelope’s edge, the paper warm under my fingertips. My throat tightens as I remember the last paycheck I’d held—torn to shreds in Brett’s kitchen, scattered across the linoleum like confetti.
Nova’s fingers dart out and snatch the envelope away. “Perfect timing,” she announces, waving it overhead like she’s won something. “We’re going shopping.”
“What? No—”
“Yes.” She tucks the envelope into her purse with a decisive zip. “That apartment has all the personality of a hospital room. You’ve got what—three shirts hanging in the closet? A toothbrush? Thrift store run, stat.”
I glance at Landon. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyebrows slightly raised as he waits. The corner of his mouth twitches with what might be amusement.
“Fine,” I murmur, my shoulders dropping in defeat. “But only for a little while.”
Nova’s face breaks into a grin. She loops her arm through mine, tugging me toward the sunlight streaming through the open garage door.
The thrift store in the next town over smells faintly of mothballs and lemon cleaner. The air hums with fluorescent lights and tinny music from an overhead speaker. It’s not glamorous, but Nova attacks it like she’s discovered buried treasure.
“Okay,” she says, sweeping a hand toward the aisles of mismatched furniture, clothes, and shelves of dishes. “Show me your vibe. What’s missing from your apartment?”
“Everything,” I admit, clutching my purse strap. “I’ve only got the basics. Bed. Table. Some kitchen stuff Landon scrounged up.”
“Then we’re fixing that.” She dives into a rack of mugs and emerges holding a chipped one that says World’s Okayest Mom. “This feels like a must.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Absolutely not.”
“Fine. But if you see anything you like, don’t overthink it. Just grab it.”
I try. At first, my hand hovers over items and falls back. But then I spot a soft plaid blanket draped over a bin. The edges are frayed, but the colors remind me of autumn leaves—warm and grounding. I touch it, and something in my chest loosens.
“That one,” Nova says, catching the look on my face. “Good call.”
Soon, I’ve got a small stack: the blanket, a set of mismatched plates with little blue flowers, a lamp with a stained-glass shade that makes me think of late-night reading, and a ceramic cat figurine that’s so ridiculous it makes me smile.
“See?” Nova says, balancing a pile of scarves on her arm. “You’re a natural.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, but there’s warmth spreading through me. Each item feels like a piece of a life I might actually want.
At the clothing racks, Nova’s fingers flutter through hangers like hummingbird wings, pulling out a moss-green sweater, then dark-wash jeans. “Just try them,” she says, pressing the stack into my arms.
When I step out of the dressing room, Nova grins.
“What?” I ask, resisting the urge to retreat back behind the flimsy door.
“You look like yourself,” Nova says.
The words catch me off guard. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “I mean, you look comfortable. Like you’re not hiding or pretending. It’s a good look on you.”
Something hot pricks behind my eyes. I duck my head, pretending to smooth the sweater. “Thanks.”
By the time we slide into a booth at the Indian restaurant, I’m smiling without realizing it. The space feels warm and inviting, golden light dancing across red curtains and plush velvet cushions.
“Hey Ravi,” Nova waves toward the counter, where a man grins in recognition before turning back to his customer.
“That’s one of the guys from the shop, right?” I ask. I’d seen his photo with the crew, but he hasn’t been by to work yet.
“Yep. His family owns this place. He’s basically everyone’s honorary cousin.” She passes me a menu. “He’s not working at the shop as much because his sister is pregnant and on bedrest. He’s been helping his parents out here.”
When a woman old enough to be my mom takes our order, she greets Nova by name.
The easy familiarity between them makes my chest ache in a way I can’t quite name.
This is what belonging looks like. What closeness feels like.
Things I’ve never really had. Even before Brett, I never experienced the kind of connection these people seem to share naturally.
The city didn’t allow for that—too many people, all too busy with their own lives to worry about yours.
Even my parents had always been consumed by work.
I was their only child, but they spent more time at the office than with me.
I wonder how different my life might have been if we’d been more like Nova and Landon, or Ravi and his family.
Would Brett have been able to weasel his way in so easily?
As we eat, Nova studies me over her spoon. “You know… I like you.”
I choke on my curry. “Um, thanks…?”
She grins. “You’re different from the girls Landon has dated before. You’re strong—not expecting him to save you or fix everything for you.”
My cheeks burn. “Nova, we’re not—”
She smirks, leaning forward. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not dating. Whether you are or not, I’m just saying—you’ve got this quiet strength about you. And Landon…” Her smirk softens into something more genuine. “Well, let’s just say he’s noticed. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”
I stare down at my food, heart hammering against my ribs. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that she’s reading too much into things. But the truth is… I honestly don’t know.
All I know is that when Landon looks at me—really looks at me—it feels like he sees straight through to parts of myself I keep hidden. And instead of making me want to run, it makes me want to believe what I see reflected in his eyes.
By the time we finish eating, my stomach is pleasantly full and my cheeks ache from laughing so hard. As we walk back toward the car, I catch myself wishing this day could stretch on forever, that the moment we return to reality I won’t feel the crushing weight of everything waiting for me there.
Because for the first time in too long, it doesn’t feel like I’m just surviving.
It feels like I’m actually living.